A pot on the stove with something burned solid in it.
He checked the short hallway.
Bedroom. One mattress on the floor.
Thin blanket. Pillow. A backpack and a skateboard.
That was about it.
Murray came back and faced Jack.
“How long has your mom been gone?” he asked.
Jack stared at the floor.
“A while,” he mumbled.
“How long is ‘a while’?” Murray pressed.
“A week,” he said.
Then, in a rush, “Or nine days.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“Alone?” I said. “You’ve been here alone that long?”
Jack’s back went stiff.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I go to school.
I make food. Mom sends money when she can. She had to help my grandparents.
He sounded like he was repeating something, not believing it.
“I’m almost 13,” he added, like that turned him into an adult.
Murray’s voice softened.
“You’re still a kid,” he said. “You shouldn’t be handling this by yourself.”
Jack’s eyes filled.
“Please don’t take me away,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to go live with strangers. I’m doing fine. Just… don’t get my mom in trouble.
Please.”
He turned to me like I had any power.
“Tell him,” he begged. “Tell him I’m okay, Mrs. Doyle.”
I walked closer, knees complaining.
“I think you’re brave,” I said.
“But no, sweetheart. You’re not okay. You’re scared and alone and pretending you’re not.
That isn’t okay.”
Murray looked between us.
“Mrs. Doyle,” he said quietly, “you live alone?”
“Yes,” I said. “Just me.
For a long time.”
“If we get his mom’s permission and clear it with CPS,” he said, “would you be willing to have Jack stay with you for now?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “Absolutely.”
Jack blinked fast.
“You’d want me there?” he asked. “I’m loud.
And I fall a lot. And I forget stuff.”
“I’ve had too much quiet and not enough falling,” I said. “I think we’ll manage.”
Murray smiled.
“Alright,” he said.
“Jack, nobody’s dragging you out tonight. I’m going to make some calls, talk to your mom, and do this the right way. Fair?”
Jack nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve.
The next week was paperwork and calls. Continue reading…
